


Our Bodies, Ourselves

by fearthainn



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Other, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-09
Updated: 2003-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearthainn/pseuds/fearthainn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"On The Danger Of Tampering With Polyjuice Potion without Careful Planning or, Draco Makes A Mistake and Acquires Some Useful New Knowledge About Girls."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Bodies, Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a masturbation challenge on The Smutty Classroom list, but it is _technically_ het.

_Hike up your skirt a little more_   
_And show the world to me_   
_In a boy's dream_   
_\- Crash Into Me, Dave Matthews Band_

~*~

Knowledge was a powerful tool.

Draco knew this. It was hard not to, with his father impressing it on him at home and Professor Snape doing the same at school. Knowledge was the ultimate weapon; having secrets no one else was in possession of gave the owner of said secrets a definite advantage. Which was part of the reason why he hated Harry Potter as much as he did. Potter knew things, Potter had secrets, and Draco wanted nothing more than to know what those secrets were. He hated Granger and Weasley because they were so close to Potter, knew his secrets, no doubt, had his trust. Potter told them things he wouldn't tell anyone else.

Things Draco wanted to know. Things that, if Draco _did_ know them, he could report back to his father and finally, _finally_ earn a little praise. After years of being second best in classes to Granger and second best in everything else to Potter, the idea of knowing something no one else did and the idea of handing that knowledge to his father with a smile...well, it was a heady, heady thing.

Which was part of the reason why he had asked Professor Snape to teach him advanced potions; after almost a year of working through _Moste Potente Potions_, they had finally got to the one Draco most dearly wanted to learn. The potion that would let him infiltrate that irritating circle, that would have Perfect Potter confiding in _him_ and not some undeserving mudblood or that pathetic excuse for a wizard, Weasley.

Polyjuice Potion.

It was no trouble at all to slip extras from Professor Snape's stores. Draco was adept at sleight of hand by this point, and gathering extra boomslang skin and powdered bicorn horn was hardly a challenge. He had found an abandoned room near to where the Gryffindor common room must be and spent days barricading it for his personal use, casting spell after concealing spell on the door, making sure that no one but him could find it. The room had a dilapidated bed frame with no mattress, an old sink and mirror, and not much else, but it was no work at all to set up a small cauldron to brew his potion, to sneak up and stir it when needed. As a Prefect he could go where he liked, even close to Gryffindor tower and no one would question him. It was very handy.

Nearly a month after he'd started, Draco had a cauldron full of perfectly-made Polyjuice, just waiting for his personal use. A casual brush against Weasley in the corridor gave him the hair he needed, plucked from the sleeve of the redhead's robe, and the potion was complete.

It looked disgusting, but Draco wasn't going to let that stop him—Weasley was off with the Mudblood somewhere, and Potter was alone. Draco had made sure of it. It was now or never. He dusted the precious hair into his glass, swirled the potion, which had turned a putrid orange colour, and gagged it down. It tasted awful, and left Draco's insides rebelling, twisting and churning. He dropped the glass into the sink and sank to his knees, clutching at his stomach.

After a moment the sick, bubbling feeling died down and Draco scrambled to his feet. That was the first indication that something was wrong; Weasley was _tall_, like some gargantuan bug, and the edge of the sink, normally hip-level on him, was now at his waist. Draco raised horrified eyes to the mirror, to stare into the reflected and equally horrified eyes of Weasley's little _sister_.

Sweet Merlin, he was a _girl_.

Draco slumped against the sink in despair. That idiot Weasley must have brushed against his sister at some point, and the hair Draco had pulled off his robes had been _hers_. And he hadn't noticed, because dammit, those bloody Weasleys all looked the same, with their horrid, stupid, red hair, and what the hell was he going to do _now_?

He couldn't leave until it wore off, that much was clear. Impersonating Weasley was one thing, he could do that without effort. But to pretend to be his _sister_? Draco had never paid any attention to the girl, other than to notice that she tagged along after Potter and his gang like she didn't have any real friends of her own, staring up at  
Potter with sickeningly adoring eyes. And he was pretty sure Potter never noticed her anyway, so she'd be useless for what he wanted.

Draco stared at his reflection in consideration. His sweater was too tight since it was fit for his own, much narrower chest. He tugged it off, sending the masses of red curls around his head into a frenzy of static; he brushed at the strands impatiently, leaning over the sink to wet his hands down and try to tame it a bit. Weasley's little sister must have to wrestle with the mop every morning just to get it looking halfway presentable.

And it seemed a bit silly to be referring to her as Weasley's little sister when he was standing here in her body. Draco stared into his newly brown eyes. Ginny. That was her name. Ginny's body, Ginny's tiny, nail-bitten hands grasping the edge of the sink, Ginny's small nose, dusted with freckles, Ginny's large brown eyes and impossible hair.

Ginny's surprisingly full bosom, straining the buttons on his dress shirt in a most uncomfortable fashion.

Draco looked down at his newfound breasts, considering his options. He _was_ stuck here, after all, he couldn't leave until the potion wore off, and it wasn't as though he had anything _else_ to do.

He'd just take the opportunity to do a little...exploring.

He loosed the buttons on his shirt and his—her?—breasts sprang free. Draco stared at them in fascination. He'd never seen a real girl's breasts before, only pictures in _Manor_ magazine when Blaise had stolen a copy from his older brother and smuggled it into school. Ginny's were smaller than the magazine girl's had been, and less...round, for lack of a better word. Where the girl in the magazine had breasts that seemed to perch on her chest like two balls encased in skin, Ginny's were softer, resting against her ribcage instead of sitting high. Draco raised one cautious hand to cup one, lifting it slightly. It gave under his hand, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh. Draco massaged it gently, narrowing his eyes at the interesting sensation. He rather thought he liked them.

The skin on her breasts was so incredibly soft, pale and milky white, so translucent he could see the blue spiderwork of veins beneath her skin. He rubbed one thumb experimentally over the nipple and it rose under his touch, sending a faint, pleasurable tightening through the skin around it. Draco grinned and did it again; he could _feel_ that, little sparks of sensation dancing through his chest. The nipple on the other breast had tightened too, and Draco raised his other hand to cup that one as well, staring at himself in the mirror.

Ginny's face had a strange, shocked expression, her small mouth parted in surprise, her eyes half-closed. Draco licked his lips, and the sight of a little pink tongue darting out to skate over her lips in the mirror sent a strange little twinge through him. If he'd been himself, it would have gone straight to his groin, made his trousers feel tight, but in Ginny's body it was a more diffuse feeling, fluttering behind his breasts, in his stomach and down between his legs.

Which brought his attention to his trousers, which actually _were_ too tight, though not in a way Draco was familiar with. Ginny had fuller hips, and he was uncomfortably aware that his trousers were not meant to house such things. Draco dropped his hands to his waistband and undid the button, tugging them down with some effort. Finally he got them off, toeing off his too-large shoes to step out of them entirely, kicking them to one side. He still had his boxers on, and he paused, glancing in the mirror again, arrested by his own reflection

It was Ginny standing there instead of his own familiar body, her skin glowing against the green silk of his boxers, tangled red curls tumbling over her shoulders and across her bare breasts. She looked like she was preparing for an assignation or leaving one; as though she'd carelessly slipped on a lover's underthings because she couldn't find her own.

She looked _hot_.

Draco shifted his legs and watched in fascination as Ginny's hips moved under the silk of his boxers. He could feel it too, smooth and warm against his skin, brushing against him in new and unexpected ways.

Because there were all sorts of new and interesting things down there, things he'd never seen outside of Blaise's one contraband copy of _Manor_, and then not for very long. Draco had never looked at a real, naked girl and with Pansy the way she was, with her stupid insistence on not doing anything more serious than snogging, he would probably not get an opportunity as perfect as this one until he was married, whenever that happened.

Draco grasped hold of the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down before he could think himself out of what he was about to do.

He stepped out of them, kicking them after his trousers, and stared in the mirror, running trembling hands over the curve of his waist and across his rounded stomach. Funny how he had never noticed before that Ginny Weasley was one fit bird. It was amazing, really, what school robes hid. She had a neat little waist, flaring out into sweet, rounded hips, the cutest round tummy and a nest of fiery orange curls forming a small vee between her legs. No denying that _she_ was a natural redhead. Draco brushed the curls with the fingertips of one hand; they felt wiry but not coarse. He shied away from exploring further just yet, pulling his hands away to examine the rest of Ginny's body.

She was small—much smaller than her brother—and compact, without Weasley's great, gangling limbs. She had smoother, paler skin, too; Draco wouldn't normally have bothered speculating on the extent of any Weasley's freckles, but now that he had Ginny's body at his disposal, it was interesting to see that she didn't, in fact, have them everywhere. They were most numerous on her arms, shoulders and upper chest, where her shirt must come down when she wore shorter sleeves and scoop-necked robes in the summer. They faded out into the creamy translucence of her breasts, and her whole torso was the same unbroken pale shade. There was only a scattering across her lower thighs, but more on her calves and the tops of her feet, including one or two on her neat little toes.

Draco turned around and craned his neck over his shoulder so he could see Ginny's back, lifting the red-gold fall of her hair out of the way with one hand. There were lots of freckles there, too, across her shoulders and upper back, fading out again toward her waist, and none at all on her bottom. And a nice little bottom it was, too, full enough to give a bloke something to hold on to, but not so big that it was distracting. Draco bounced experimentally on his toes and watched in enthrallment as Ginny's flesh jiggled in response.

This was _so cool._

Draco turned around again, brushing his hands up over the rounded curve of his stomach—and it was too strange, thinking of Ginny's soft, girlish curves as _his_—and reached up to cup her breasts again. That felt nice, his hands warm against the soft flesh, skating across the hard nipples. Draco took one in his fingers and gently pinched it, just to see what it would feel like—it sent a jolt of pure sensation through him that seemed to run straight from his breasts to the strange new place between his legs, making his knees weak.

Draco moaned, the soft sound echoing through the empty chamber. He felt so strange...aroused, yes, but it was a slower, gentler sensation than he was used to, not nearly so urgent as when something turned him on in his real body. He let go of one of his breasts and slid his hands across his stomach again, through the thatch of curls and between his legs. This was uncharted territory—there was no way Pansy would ever let him touch her there, no matter how much he begged. But it wasn't as though _Ginny_ were around to tell him no, and here was the perfect opportunity to see exactly where girls were different. He wasn't going to pass this up.

The curls were damp, which wasn't entirely unexpected. After all, he wasn't completely without education in such matters; he knew that happened to girls when they were randy. But feeling it happen was something else. Draco moved his fingers a little further, feeling slick, smooth skin that was almost hot to the touch—the sensation of his hand sliding over those silky folds made his hips cant and his breath come a little short. That was _certainly_ different.

And suddenly Draco wanted to _see_ how different it was. This was his first naked girl and he wanted to explore her as thoroughly as he could. He glanced around the room—which was ridiculous, really, he knew the door was locked and no one even came here—and moved back to the sink to lift the mirror off the wall. He was thankful that it wasn't one with a speaking charm on it; he could only imagine what sort of comments it might have if it watched what he was going to do. He propped it on the floor beside the sink and gathered up his robes, spreading them out to form a barrier between the cold stone and his naked flesh. He arranged himself carefully, moving so that the mirror showed exactly what he wanted to see.

And what a sight. There was Ginny, reflected in the mirror's frame as though she were a moving picture, her hair in tangled curls across her shoulders, her mouth half-open, her eyes heavy with pleasure. She sat on a pile of his robes with her head thrown back and her legs spread, one hand resting on her upper thigh, fingers just touching those thick red curls that hid her most secret places. She looked wanton, willing, and utterly desirable.

His breath coming short, Draco snaked his hand into that nest of curls and spread them apart, pulling one leg up so that he could see clearly, staring at the mirror in fascination as he did so. Nestled within those curls were delicate pink folds of skin, the smooth, inviting flesh he had felt before. He slid one finger along the edge of one, inhaling sharply at the feeling that produced.

He moved his fingers, exploring the slippery folds, his breath coming faster at the delicate shivers of pleasure that rocked him as he did so, so very different from his own body's responses. And then he brushed over a spot that made him arch up, moaning loudly in spite of himself.

Draco moved his hand again, brushing the same spot again, with the same ecstatic response. His hand moved further, and one small finger slipped inside; just a fingertip, but the sensation made him inhale sharply, his hips jerking involuntarily. He moved his other hand down to rub at the spot he'd found before, and he moaned loudly at the combined sensations. He forgot about watching the picture Ginny made, the image displayed before him in the mirror somehow less important than this powerful, elusive delight.

The pleasure built and built, and he arched up into his hands as it exploded through him in a wave. He could hear soft gasps echoing through the small room as it crested; on impulse he kept moving his fingers and almost on top of the first orgasm, the intense pleasure crashed down on him again, and then, incredibly, _again_. After the third time Draco let his hands fall away and lay back against his robes, limp and exhausted. If the trembling he felt through his body were any indication, he could probably bring himself off once more, right now. As often as he wanted. No having to stop and rest, no recovery time. Just constant, endless pleasure.

_Wow_.

Girls were _so cool_.

After he caught his breath and the aftershocks had diminished somewhat, Draco levered himself up on his elbows to survey the foreign terrain of Ginny's body. He felt surprisingly energetic; had he been himself, after coming three times in a _row_—and how lucky were _girls_, that they could do that?—he'd have been completely exhausted, unable to move. But Ginny's body didn't seem to have that problem. Draco pushed himself to his feet and made his slightly wobbly way back over to the sink, where he washed his sticky hands. He sank to his knees in front of the mirror, which was still leaning on the floor beside the sink, and examined Ginny's face.

Ginny's soft brown eyes gazed back at him knowingly, and Draco let his mouth tilt up in a smile. His trademark smirk, on her face, looked...softer. More secretive, somehow and less scornful. As though she knew something that no one else did.

It was a good look for her.

But even as he watched, her hair began to fade to blond, her round face lengthening into his own, more aquiline features. In almost no time, he was back to his familiar self, in his own familiar body. He was almost sorry, though he was pretty sure he didn't want to be a girl full time, and particularly not a _Weasley_.

Though this certainly put a new spin on his heretofore nonexistent relationship with Ginny. Draco grinned at himself in the mirror, imagining how he could use this newfound familiarity with her responses to his advantage.

Knowledge was indeed a powerful tool.


End file.
